


to shelter, briefly

by spoke



Category: Define "Normal" - Julie Anne Peters, The Silver Kiss - Annette Curtis Klause
Genre: 100 women, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoke/pseuds/spoke





	to shelter, briefly

Here are the shadows.

Listen as they speak,   
in whispers of the past  
in hopes for the future.

Look into their eyes,  
look for his eyes,  
the starlight boy, lost.

Follow his reflection   
into the sunlight  
into the warmth of hope  
that embraces the shadows,  
weaving them with light.

 

It’s one of her earlier poems, and she feels it’s not her best. But it’s always been one of the most popular. Now, listening to the typical sappy romance intrepretation, Zoë grimaces into her too-bitter coffee and thinks about how long it will take to ditch the place.

Which is an amusing choice of words, as if she’s throwing the place away instead of leaving it. She’d only stopped in to get out of the cold, Zoë the bird seeking shelter.

She’s pulled out of her musing by another voice arguing with the reader. The beginning she nearly missed, but it’s easy enough to work out from context. “can’t say that just because you believe it. It’s only interpretation. The author might have intended it to mean exactly what it says...”

“Poetry never says exactly anything.”

A snort identified the new speaker, a punk in black, with intelligent kohl-lined eyes. “Only if you’ve never read anything seriously. Just because you want to be metaphorical doesn’t erase the meaning in the words. It’s love, sure, but not this sappy fairytale nonsense you’re going on about. It’s about loss, and letting go, and moving on without forgetting the person you’ve lost. Because they’d want you to be happy.” 

She finds herself whispering along with those last words, a nearly silent recital that ends sharply when the punk’s eyes catch her own.

She isn’t surprised when she comes over to the table, nor that they end up talking forever; though she is surprised, when even as they leave, Jazz forgoes that last-second chance to ask the question that everyone does. She says goodbye with a lighter heart for not hearing it.

They usually think they want to know who he was; they never ask whether she wants them to.


End file.
